


On the judgement upon Sodom and Gomorrah - one of yours or one of ours?

by Jezebee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Biblical Reinterpretation, Demon True Forms, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I promise it's not graphic, I switch their pronouns like a third into the fic, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kinda, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Protective Crowley, Whump Aziraphale, Wingfic, wild mash up of book and tv canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezebee/pseuds/Jezebee
Summary: The only thing that mattered, right in this moment, on all of earth, heaven and hell, was that they would face punishment. Infinite times the pain they had caused the purest, the holiest, the only one worthy of worship.





	On the judgement upon Sodom and Gomorrah - one of yours or one of ours?

**Author's Note:**

> Please do forgive me for what is likely horrible punctuation - English is not my first language.

The thing about deserts like the one Crowley was currently residing in was, they really never achieved a desirable temperature. Now, as a near immortal being that wasn't really that much of a problem, however, as a being that happened to be somewhat cold-blooded, it forced them to adjust to a certain rhythm. The cold nights made Crowley feel sluggish and dazed, like gravity suddenly affected their body more than usual, so they, liking sleep a fair amount for someone who didn't strictly need it, tended to rush through them one hazy dream and no metres at a time. Travelling with the sun wasn't that fun either and if any human saw their red hair glistening in the bright light, it might seem to them as though their head was aflame, that´s how hot it was. Not many humans were passing through this particular area however, seeing how Crowley was currently moving towards a war-zone at an agonizingly slow pace. Yes, Crowley was about to take credit for the battle of Siddim, despite having not lifted a single, currently very sandy, finger to start it. They´d have to thank the five kings who were allegedly actually responsible sometime later, if they survived that was.  
Crowley blew out a rather resigned, hot puff of breath, and squinted at the softly rising and falling stretch of sand ahead. They had long since taken of their headscarf, being in no danger to suffer from a sunstroke or anything of the sort but they were still weary and worn out. If only animals got along a bit better with them, maybe they would already have reached their destination. Even being alive, or a close approximate of it, for as long as they had been, this journey seemed to take up an eternity and they´d never been a fan of that concept. It was rather lonely. At the edge of their mind, however, if they let their surroundings slide out of focus, was the ever presence brushing touch of their counterpart, Aziraphale. Crowley had no idea where the angel was currently trying to act busy but at least they knew he had not returned to heaven or anything, and his reaching, wispy aura was calming, if slightly anxious at the same time. Crowley had never known the angel to be not anxious, so it didn't worry them. Maybe after this whole thing was settled, they would seek him out, always good to know what the other side was up to after all. They hadn't checked in with hell for quite a while now, simply because too little was happening and there´d been a weird tension down below since the flood. No one had quite known what to make of it and the onslaught of technically not really damned souls that suddenly found themselves in hell. If you asked Crowley, things like this were exactly the reason why unquestioning loyalty to the Almighty could not be considered a working morale, looking at you Gabriel, because, in the end, what had the flood been other than a strange whim. And children had to die for it! Crowley shuddered. It was rare for young souls like that to end up in hell and it was, quite frankly, nothing short of revolting. In their mind´s eye, they could still see the dulled colours of the “rainbow”, joy of divine light muddled through his serpentine lenses. They weren't quite colour-blind, but something close to it. In the present, those eyes now fell on the tiniest structures in the distance. Not that Crowley was looking forward to dealing with a bunch of testy humans, but nonetheless, a small, rather predatory, smile found its way onto their lips. Another night of sleep and maybe half a day of walking on the next morning and they could – in a way – settle down for a while again. With any luck at all, the cities would have some alcohol left to wash down the baked dirt that seemed to have settled in their throat.  
Dreams, Crowley imagined, were a bit different for demons than they were for humans. They, of course, were one of the few demons who actually had a bit of imagination, so it wasn't like all their dreams were just memory replays or something equally mundane, however, they were yet to dream of something as absurd as some of the rulers who had foolishly consulted them for oneiromancy. Of course, they could also influence a human´s dreams, or rather, their nightmares but it was, to be perfectly candid, kind of a bother. After maybe another three hours of walking, the sun dipped to kiss the horizon goodnight and Crowley sunk into the loose ground, hair fanning out beneath their head, scarf thrown over their eyes, mouth and nose as a sufficient protection against being woken by straying animals of any kind rather unpleasantly. In the end, it turned out these precautions were utterly unnecessary after all, because awoken rudely they were. Not by any animals, though that might've been more pleasant actually. No, Crowley was jerked awake by a rather harsh spike of utter panic. Panic, that was not their own, they quickly realized. The quiet, brushing touch at the edge of their consciousness turned into a bruising, quivering grip, painful and desperate. Crowley felt their own, not quite needed, heart hammering in response, they had never felt Aziraphale in so much distress. Crowley stumbled a few steps forwards, straight up from his curled up sleeping position, before realizing that they had no idea where they ought to be heading. Clenching their jaw, they did their best to embrace the painful sensation that currently made up Aziraphale´s presence, in an attempt to locate the angel. Their speeding heart almost came to a full stop as they realized that the epicentre of all that heavenly sorrow was just at the place they had already been headed, Sodom.  
Right then and there, in the middle of one pitch black, frost-bitten night, at the edge of a dessert, Crowley unfurled their charred but well-kept wings with a hissing snarl. Running wouldn't do. Flying was still too slow, but bending space-time was a too daunting ordeal for their frozen over form. With wings beating in time with a frantic, metaphysical heart, Crowley made his way, much faster than the past days, weeks of wandering had been,  
For a city involved in war, the houses of Sodom lay under a suspicious blanket of darkness and silence. As Crowley closed in on the borders of the city, they descended, not out of fear to be seen but simply because it´d be much easier to navigate the narrow passages between clay brick and wood. They pulled their wings tight to their back, keeping them on the physical plane for now, tense and ready to strike at anyone and anything, This close up, Aziraphale´s aura seemed to suck them in, and Crowley was unsure whether the angels anguish had actually increased in tenfold or if the proximity was responsible for the intense onslaught of pain they felt. It was unbearable and it tugged on the very seams of their being, demonic nature relishing in it while at the same coming undone with the rage that their angel was the source of it. Black nails clawed and usually contained fangs dripping with poison, they strode purposefully through the thick silence, until it was silent no more, and muddled torch light bleed out into the pure night. There. Aziraphale was in there, And so were multiple humans, both voices and thoughts loud and filthy. Another shudder of red-hot rage washed through Crowley, more stitches ripping, physical form spitting out bits and pieces of hell at an increasing rate, Their eyes, fully golden and serpentine, fixed on the building, they stood frozen. They needn't go in to understand what the animals inside had done to their angel. The question of why was not of any interest, at least at the moment, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered, right in this moment, on all of earth, heaven and hell, was that they would face punishment. Infinite times the pain they had caused the purest, the holiest, the only one worthy of worship. Crowley let go of the remains of their human form and unleashed what was the definition of all horrible, demonic form beyond human comprehension but clearly visible as such to the angel also present. With a thought, the houses around him collapsed, were engulfed in flame and turned to ice at the same time. Crowley felt Aziraphale curl his divinity and grace even tighter within himself, and they didn't know if Aziraphale simply didn't recognize him, or if he was afraid that they would not recognize him, or wouldn't care about harming him in their current state. It couldn't be further from the truth. Crowley spread their consciousness further and further, sending hellfire to every dirty and muddled human aura they felt.  
Their rage turned into desperation quickly, immense sorrow over the wounds inflicted onto their only friend. It felt as though their and the angels pain spilled into each other, the closest thing to real hell Crowley halt felt in ages. He collapsed back into his physical, rather human form, exhausted, weary and crying blood and venom unabashedly, Legs that hadn't quite figured out walking, not even after such a long time on earth, stumbled towards the ball of hurt that had always been his only fixed point among an ever change plane of existence. Azirapahle lay turned to his side, knees drawn to his chest and a wing draped over himself, shielding the view of his torn robes and even more damaged form. His other wing stretched at an odd angle over the floor, debris all around him while he himself remained untouched by any of hell Crowley had let crash down. But the fingerprints of the humans were burned into him and Crowley shook at the sight. Aziraphale turned one weary eye on him, gaze firm but not quite there at the same time. Crowley knelt by his side, fell at his feet and fought to contain his voice. Instead, he offered careful hands to the angel, hovering without touching, nails black but blunt, clean of the sand his journey had forced on him. He wouldn't be able to heal any of Aziraphale's wounds, having completely exerted himself, but the least he could do was tend to them. Aziraphale let out a muffled noise that might've been his name. Crowley tried hard to wrap a sense of remeasurement around them both but he couldn't really muster up the energy to do so. He was exhausted and reality felt much like it warped into a nightmare at the edges of his field of vision. Aziraphale seemed to understand his initial intention though because he let his wings fall away from existence, leaving behind only a few torn feathers. Crowley sucked in a breath as the full expanse of harm inflicted onto the angel became visible. If he really had to try and heal them the slow way, they couldn't stay here, he realized. But there was no trust to be found for any of the humans that might have survived his outburst, if there were any at all. There seemed no going forwards, nor backwards, they were utterly stuck in place. Aziraphale wouldn't discorporate, surely, but still.  
“Think you can walk?”  
Crowley didn't know the purpose of his question. Maybe he just wanted to break the oppressing silence that surrounded them, blazing of the inferno they were the eye of not reaching them.  
“Where to, Crowley?”  
Aziraphale´s voice was steadier than Crowley´s own. The angel was unbelievably strong, and Crowley was sure the only reasons his captors hadn't been struck by divine wrath on the spot was that the angle had foolishly, forgivingly, adoringly thought that they too would find good again. That, or maybe he had been struck out by the possible consequences for him, should heaven find out the whole array of things that had happened. Crowley didn't want to contemplate what they might do, and which of the things they would end up holding Aziraphale responsible for.  
“Somewhere that isn't ablaze for a start. Somewhere sheltered. Safe.”  
Aziraphale cast a glance at their surroundings, sitting up under Crowley´s watchful eyes, and with his hands tenderly sitting below his invisible wings. He tried to gather the remains of his robes tighter around himself, to no avail, and Crowley, without thinking, draped his headscarf around the angels shoulders, the black fabric a stark contrast to his almost white curls, but a terrifying match to the purple blossoming across his skin. Blue eyes turned to him in a sort of hesitant, startled thanks.  
“Ah. Yes well. I believe you did go a little overboard with that.”  
There was fear in his voice. Crowley wondered if it was directed at him, at what happened, or at Aziraphale himself for maybe being thankful for what were many, many souls sent down.  
“Maybe so. Not quite flood levels of exaggeration though.”  
“I wonder if you will ever let that one go. I know you miss the unicorns, but really.”  
Crowley blew out a tense breath, Aziraphale was deflecting. It did nothing to help with their current situation.  
“Come on, Angel. Get up and watch your step, don´t want you to touch any hellfire by accident”  
At that, Aziraphale pressed his grace even tighter into his chest. Crowley winced, wondering if it hurt to squeeze your essence so much. Likewise, Aziraphale winced as he finally made it to his feet, movements careful and uncoordinated at the same time, like he was aware of the damage to his body and had decided to disconnect from it. Crowley kept a steadying hand on him the entire time.  
With agonizingly slow steps they made their way out of the destroyed city, unspoken words falling and piling between them, much like the debris around them. Eventually, the fire subsided and the reached still flourishing parts of the plain. Crowley was uncomfortable being around humans so soon after the onslaught events but there wasn't much choice. He needed rest, and so did Aziraphale even if he wouldn't like it. So, they had made their way to Bela, where things had remained much calmer despite the battle of Sidim and really, it was a bit like an oasis, more so to Crowley who had been trudging the desert for a better part of a moon cycle. They settled down in one of the emptied houses at the edge of the city, family probably relocated with the change of regimen or something of the like.  
Gingerly, Crowley helped Aziraphale settle on a mat he had half a mind to procure, then stepped back and dropped right to the dusty ground himself. God – er Satan, he was tired. He drew his legs up to his chest.  
“Sooo.”, he settled his chin on top of his knees, “What were you doing in Sodom anyway? You must've known about the mood around here.”  
Aziraphale tensed.  
“Right. One of your´s, I assume?”  
“Not at all. I mean, I was gonna take credit for it but cooking up a war, really, that´s way too much work for me. No, thank you.”  
Aziraphale frowned. Crowley frowned right back at him. He hadn't answered his question, and he knew it.  
“That´s too much work for you, but smiting two entire cities out of existence isn't?”  
“Ngk. You know that this is different. Look, I´m sorry about this whole thing, I probably got you in trouble upstairs with the numbers and all but really. You know this is different.”  
Aziraphale could be a right bastard sometimes. Especially when he got defensive.  
“How so, Crowley?”  
“Listen, it´s hardly my fault I lost touch a bit. You were broadcasting your divine sorrow to half the continent, I think. How is any self-respecting demon gonna ignore that? And all of them were sinners anyway, upstairs wouldn't have wanted them, not now and not in 10 years.”  
“Right. Well, I apologize for causing you trouble.”  
Aziraphale seemed quite put-out and Crowley was having absolutely none of it. The angel still held himself tall physically but absolutely tiny in every other plane visible to him. If Crowley didn't know any better, he´d think that the humans actually managed to actually harm Aziraphale´s grace somehow. He suspected, however, that it was more of a mental thing. Which meant he was absolutely at loss what to do.  
“Angel.”, he hesitated, “Angel, look. I really am sorry about what happened. I didn't mean any harm, which I realize sound ridiculous but really. It´s one thing when the humans sin against each other, that´s none of my business – well, it kind of makes up my business but you know what I mean. What I mean to say is, well, I guess I panicked. They´re supposed to fear you, not the other way around.”  
“I don´t fear them”, Aziraphale snapped.  
“I suppose you don´t. Maybe I do, though, sometimes. All the things you assume I get them to do but it´s all just them.  
At that, Aziraphale turned sombre. His shoulders dropped and he let out a shuddering, wet breath.  
“I just don´t understand what they think to achieve with all this. What´s it for?”  
Crowley ached for him. He didn't have an answer either. It was about power, or maybe it was about fear after all.  
“You should rest, Aziraphale.”

Crowley, despite his heavy limbs, watched over Aziraphale as he - kind of - slept. Crowley was sure the angel would respond if he addressed him but he stayed silent and Aziraphale stayed motionless. His hands were clasped as though in prayer but Crowley doubted he was trying to reach any of the other angels. He was, still, effectively hiding himself away. Crowley thought he ought to get the angel some new clothes at least but he was weary to leave his side. No one would enter the house without him feeling it but there was no knowing how Aziraphale might react upon waking up alone. So, Crowley sat and stewed in his thoughts and emotions for a while. There was quite a lot of them, one might be surprised, and other demons would certainly be repulsed. The weakest of all of them must be the guilt over the lives he had taken, or rather, passed on to hell. Usually, he´d break his head over something like that a lot more, but the haze of how things had gone done muddled his thinking and he felt a strange disconnect between the him currently curled up at the feet of his angel and the demon who had blanketed the plain not too long ago. No, what was strongest in his mind was still the worry over Aziraphale, seconded just barely by stifled anger. The humans must've known that he was an angel. How they found out was beyond him, but they must've known. And the thing was, plenty of people have had taken their try at discorporating Crowley for simply being a demon, and many more would try or even succeed through the ages but an angel. Crowley knew that Paganism had been rampant in Sodom but even then he couldn't comprehend the thought process that led one to lay hand on an honest-to-God angel – well not so much honest about things like the location of certain swords but other than that. And they´d been lucky, had it been any angel other than Aziraphale, Crowley was sure they´d been struck by heavenly fury the second the thought as much as entered their mind. Because the other angels, they were self-righteous and proud enough to be guilty of vanity, and they wouldn't have spared a thought about getting in trouble for killing.  
Crowley wondered if anyone upstairs had even noticed Aziraphale´s distress. He himself was always aware of the others presence unless he went to heaven, which had happened all but once during their time together. Naturally, he couldn't sense heaven, being a demon, but surely the heavenly host could sense their field agents on earth. Or the field agent, rather. Crowley didn't know of any other angel who had spent more than maybe 30 years on earth. He´d decided a long time ago that heaven didn't really care however, so he couldn't say he was that surprised they hadn't intervened. If the outburst of demonic energy had alarmed them, well that was different matter. The thought awoke the need to drape his wings over Aziraphale and hide him from his judgemental superiors, though he supposed that being found coddled up with the so called enemy wouldn't really help things to go over smoothly. Crowley shifted in his spot, moving his left foot closer to the angel.

The sun had wandered through the room and by the time day dipped into dusk, Aziraphale had woken and urged Crowley to sleep instead, offering up the mat. Crowley had declined and curled up on the ground as it were. His sleep turned out to be equally fitful and disturbingly deep, excitement of the day not quite shaken of yet, pulses of hell not quite pressed back into something frightfully human, more so than it should be. As his breath left him in soft, hissing snores, he dreamt dreams more vivid than ever before and by the time he woke up again, it took him a while to separate all the impressions in his head. Aziraphale sat tailor-style, idly combing his elegant hands through tattered wings. It wasn't often that Crowley got to see the angel´s wings these days, what with the human pretence they each held up, and if he were to judge, he´d say Aziraphale should let him see and groom his wings much more often because – recent assault or not – they always looked terrible. He squirmed into a sitting position and lazily shuffled over to the angel, eyes full of question. Aziraphale bit his lip but nodded consent anyway, because both of them knew well enough that Crowley was much better at tending to things like this, while Aziraphale had an extraordinary talent for being pampered.  
Crowley brushed any further implications of that thought aside and sunk his fingers between the sorrowful white feathers before him. It took quite some time until Aziraphale finally relaxed under his ministrations, sagging down into a pliant, warm heap of limbs and feathers. It was then that Crowley dared to speak again. As always, he wasn't very artful with his words.  
“You okay, Angel?”  
Aziraphale let out a long, slow breath.  
“I´m quite alright, Crowley, don´t you worry. I've already healed much of the received damage, you must've noticed. The rest will fade soon and that´ll be that.”  
Crowley made a vague noise, that might equally well be disagreement or confirmation.  
“I meant like, how´re you holdin´ up mentally?  
“I´m fine, really. I´m more occupied with what might happen in the future than what happened in the recent past. Heaven will not be pleased.”  
“Not be pleased with what exactly?”  
Aziraphale threw him a particularly dirty look over his shoulder for that.  
“Oh come now. Thanks to you, there are now hundreds of souls lost to hell. I´m meant to be thwarting you! Instead, I´m basically letting you braid my hair.”  
“I´m doing no such thing. And your hair is way too short for that anyway.”  
“Crowley.”  
Right.  
“Right”, said Crowley, “That isn't the problem, I get it. But I also think there´s more to it than you´re telling me.”  
Aziraphale´s wings seemed to turn heavier at that. Crowley spread his hand over the shifting muscles soothingly, some of his long hair falling against Aziraphale´s neck with the movement.  
“The humans”, Aziraphale began slowly, “The humans are not capable of taking away any of my grace.”  
They cannot make me fall, hung in the air between them unspoken and sank to the floor with a stay down feather.  
“They cannot harm my true form like a demon – like you could. At most, a human might discorporate me – heaven would be displeased but it would be most manageable.”  
Crowley stroked his hands through mostly tidied up wings. Azirapahle´s feathers were smooth and glossy, strong and flexible. Aziraphale´s little speech felt like it was directed at himself alone, a remeasurement, a reminder. Crowley massaged his fingertips into the base of the angels wings, earning himself a small, content shudder, and offered no words, yet.  
“So, it hardly matters what they've done. There´s no difference between this and, say, threatening me with a blade. That is not what heaven will care about. They´ll care that I've failed to sooth the parties of war like intended and that Sodom and Gommorah were lost in the process. They´ll care that I allowed you to act up, as it were. We´ll manage that, right? We´ll come up with something?”  
Crowley almost let his head fall against the angel´s neck at his tiny-voiced we. That Aziraphale seemed to think he was at all dependant on Crowley just proved, in the demon´s eyes, how shaken up he really was. There usually wasn't a “we”, even in moments of closeness like this, because what was convenient and maybe even nice wasn't necessarily what was good, not that the angel would ever admit that.  
“Sure we can”, he drawled, nonetheless, “They won´t bother you too much, I´m sure. Heavenly mercy and all that. Besides, it´s not really that you haven´t done anything wrong, per se, you just kind of failed at doing the right thing, not for a lack of trying.”  
“Right! If they have any understanding of how things are down here, there´ll know there´s just so many fires one single angel can put out. This is but a mere slip up, really.”  
Crowley wouldn't go as far as that, but he nodded earnestly either way.  
“You have to wonder what they get up to over there anyway. Always seemed a bit lazy to me, honestly. If you asked me, they shouldn't be allowed to judge the outcomes of your work until they've done a better job of it. Bet they can´t.”  
Aziraphale coloured at that remark, and Crowley had honestly no idea if he was flustered at the prospect of being praised or scandalized at his casual blaspheming. Crowley patted Aziraphale´s wings good- ehrm, bad-naturedly.  
“You´re the brightest of the bunch, Angel. Holiest grace around.”  
Despite his casual tone, this was a lot more honest than he usually got with Aziraphale, and he kind of hoped that the angel had picked that up. Understood that he hadn't changed from what had happened, that he was still, well, pure, so to say. Aziraphale gave him a small smile. They parted the following night, and when Aziraphale´s presence returned back from heaven about a fortnight later, Crowley accidentally blessed the person he was meant to be tempting in his relief.


End file.
